Little Red Letter
by Jynx'sbox
Summary: X 'Take a look at what you've become Todd.' 'I don't think I'm Todd anymore.' X
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Little Red**

Rating:** T**

Author: **Jynx'sbox**

A/N: **Hey guys, here is another piece of barely adequate crap for you to enjoy.**

Chapter one

xXx

The park was blissfully quiet. A cool breeze only just ruffled the soft black hair of its only occupant.

Doe eyes, hollowed by a childhood of trauma, stared out at the rusty pipes of a cold metal slide nearby. Nimble fingers; out of nervous habit, picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his striking red hoodie.

Squee was waiting for someone.

A rickety old car pulled up in a series of soft squeaks. He didn't look to it though; he knew who it was. There was the sound of a car door slamming shut before the arriving person sat gingerly on the hard ground a little ways to his right. Neither individual spoke; this other person knew he couldn't convince Squee otherwise. The boy plucked absently at the rough material of his dark blue jeans.

"Tomorrow." The boy's voice was almost inaudible. His silent companion had little trouble hearing though; he'd been expecting such a statement since he'd received Squee's phone call. There was a slight nod in response and a touch of cold fingertips to the warm fabric of the boy's shoulder. Looking at the other human being for the first time he was faced with a small black taser. It was this other person's way of saying 'just in case'.

There were many reasons as to why Squee accepted the electric instrument. Various excuses as to why he would need even the slightest protection when he'd planned the entire day down to what shoes to wear came to mind. The most important was that he didn't really know if the outcome of tomorrow would be what he wanted it to be.

Long thin fingers reached out in a tentative manner and grasped the thick, black handle of the small instrument. Skeletal digits released it once he had his grip. Squee looked up with all the innocence and childish wonder he'd had as a child. Nny wasn't going to stop him.

How long had it been since Johnny had gone and come back from his 'vacation'? Squee hadn't seen his demented neighbor in a very long time. No screams had randomly erupted from next door, no visits from the manic man in the middle of the night, no crazy theories or sputterings of the wickedness of humanity while ripping some random pedestrian to pieces.

It had been so long that Squee started to believe the man was gone for good. Eventually the blackened windows and silent nights led him to question whether the strange and deluded man ever existed. Were his parents in the right when they sent him to that psyche ward?

Then Johnny came back.

It had to have happened in the middle of the night; while he was sleeping. He _could_ have missed it on his way to school the next morning. Squee'd stopped looking at the desolate reminder of the horrors of his childhood a while back. For the longest time he would look next door for the rusty vehicle that stuck out amidst the uniform of his street. After a few years of seeing nothing he didn't even bother to glance in the house's direction. Had he failed to notice the tale tell sign of Johnny's return?

It occurred to him, several hours after he let the realization set in, that he might have come while Squee was in school.

The thought scared him; the possible midnight advent of this deranged neighbor. Did Johnny change the way he wanted to? Was he the same as, if not worse than, before?

Would Johnny knock on his window that night?

The visits he was half expecting never came. The house remained as silent as it had been for years. No screaming or shrieking, no yelling or crying, there was only a quiet tension.

Several times Squee would be on his way to school when a prickling would settle over his shoulders. The chill would travel down his spine and towards his heels. When he would turn, movement would hinder his sight against everything but those darkened windows. Was that the white of two eyes or the glint of a knife?

Finally the fear morphed into desperation. He wondered, while hiding in his room from his parents, if maybe he was just imagining the whole thing. When he looked outside again there would be no ugly reddish brown automobile; no dusty, dirty sign would be staked in the front lawn forbidding solicitors from walking on the dirt; it would all have been a cruel joke.

Squee would then take a cautious peek outside to see the house as he'd seen it for the entirety of his life in that town, except it would be a strange mixture of what it had been when he was a child and what it had been after Johnny had disappeared. It would house a demented killer silently. The desperation would shift to hysteria.

Several weeks into the following school year something awful happened to Squee. Something he didn't confess to anyone for weeks.

Todd Casil stopped caring about the 'scary neighbor man'.

The next two weeks were a blur. He blocked the entire incident out of his mind and zombied his way through his classes. He paid enough attention to take notes, do his homework, and eat. He built up a rather decent defense against all thought until he started dreaming about what happened.

A break down was inevitable. It happened right in the middle of history.

His creepy counselor recommended keeping a diary. Squee could write no more than three words. 'I feel like . . .' He threw the diary away.

The counselor then suggested telling his parents. His mother stared at him blankly. His father laughed and started screaming at Squee's back.

"You ruined my life, you faggot!" Squee needed a scapegoat. So he called Johnny.

He couldn't remember for the life of him how he found the man's number nor did he have any assurance the phone even worked. He tried anyways, despite the latter. Each ring seemed to last forever and the silence that buzzed between them went on for an eternity. After a few seconds there was a click.

"_Hello?"_

xXx

So, yeah.

Tell me what you guys think.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sometimes he wished his entire life was a dream. Squee hoped that maybe he could, no, _would_ wake up tomorrow and everything would be different. But Squee _couldn't_ dare to hope.

He was walking home in the semi darkness just thinking. What would this new day bring? The light conveyed a chance for a new beginning, a chance for change. But what did the fading night promise? The desertion of peace? The departure of silence? The loss of everything he knew and understood for the placement of the unknown? Because Squee didn't know what today would bring; happiness, insanity, rage, fear, maybe even death. All were equal in opportunity and all but one were worthy of such a day.

Who was he to pray for happiness?

"_Hello?"_

Johnny; an undisputed evil, a possible outcome of Squee's future, this was the man whom had haunted his dreams for as far back as he could remember. The opposition to everything Squee stood for. How ironic that his assurance would quell the fear more than anyone or anything else.

That voice, laced with a deranged curiosity and lined in malice, it calmed him, soothed him, and centered him. Where Shmee had remained silent, Johnny had spoken quietly through the connection. He'd counseled him, consoled him, and encouraged him.

_buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz do what you think is best zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

_zzzzzz only you can have power over you zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz don't let them control you zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

And Squee understood, because Nny understood.

The noise in the background had bothered him though; during the entirety of his phone call it had remained stubborn. It even had the audacity to weave itself into Nny's voice and words. It wormed into Squee's mind and stayed, buzzing in the back of his head. Like a parasite, like a bug.

_zzzzzzzzz do what you think is best zzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

Johnny was no longer the 'scary neighbor man', he was someone who cared in a world where no one seemed to see, where the Devi's and Edgar's were far and few in between, where mothers and fathers just didn't seem to care. But _that _was okay because they still loved him right?

_zzzzz do you feel loved zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

I don't know . . . what does it feel like?

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

And Squee knew because Johnny knew and understood what it felt like to be standing in the middle of a busy street with no one to care if a car crashed into and carried you away.

He was home standing in the doorway feeling taller than he should, skinnier than he should, angry, resentful, and most importantly he felt like . . .

Dawn was breaking, the light dipped him in warmth and comfort, bathing and cleansing him for what was to come. He had a decision to make, go inside or just walk away.

Squee felt split; he felt angry and scared, tired and wary. What if it didn't work, what if he was still trapped?

"I won't be ignored." He murmured to himself and with only a brief glance towards the house next door he grabbed the door knob, with the hand not stroking the tazer in his pocket, and stepped inside.

For a moment the house looked old and unused; it looked empty, worn, and unlivable. Then it was home and Squee had to wash his face in the bathroom before he felt ready.

He had to pull himself together, he needed to be in his right mind when he did this. Looking in the mirror he could see smooth skin and large eyes. They were the only lingering traits of his childhood self. Long, thin fingers reached out to touch this other person, to feel someone else.

A noise drew away his hand, a shuffle, his father was waking up. A low groan could be heard and Squee stepped out into the hall to see him ambling towards the doorway, his face obscured by long shadows and deep depressions. Early morning rays just made him look older and more tired. He looked human.

Without a word Squee was pushed out of the way and the door was slammed. He didn't have to worry about his mother, she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

Pulling at a loose thread on his hoodie sleeve Squee whistled as he walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Beneath the sink, behind the bottles were several long thing rods.

Squee set to work securing the house. He jammed the locks on the front and back doors with two small slivers of metal, he placed one rod in each window; along the wall on the upper left side effectively preventing an opening. He was preparing the scene, making it perfect for his parents. They deserved the perfection they would often see fit to remind everyone he lacked.

It was an hour before his father walked into the kitchen, damp from a shower and eyeing Squee as if he were a pile of shit he'd just stepped into. His mouth opened to spout some obscenity when Squee cut him off.

"I'm going to go check on mom."

His father watched him leave, too tired to call out at his back. The boy was a nuisance at best. At least he was making himself useful instead of hiding up in his room all day doing hell only knows what.

Squee didn't bother to muffle his footsteps or stop his hand from skimming the wall in a way that would make noise. As he walked the slightly heavy weight of his tazer bumped against his hip rhythmically, his blood was pounding in his ears and his were arms tingling with anticipation.

He stopped at her closed door,

"Mom?" he called out quietly. The quiet was deafening, thick, and muggy. Squee waited for a moment, listening intently to the quiet. No sound, just emptiness.

His father's footsteps distracted him from his apparent 'checking' on his mother. Carrying a bagel and mug of fresh coffee, Mr. Casil made his way to the office at the end of the hall. As he passed, Squee slipped inside their bedroom, only sparing a brief glance at his father before shutting the door.

The footsteps faded until they were punctuated by a loud and obnoxious slam.

He turned, albeit rather slowly, and took in his parents' bedroom. Easily the largest bedroom in the house it was made to look even larger by the sparse furniture. The largest fixture, being the bed, was mostly filled by Mrs. Casil dozing to the tune of sixties bebop being churned out of a small radio on an adjacent dresser.

His mother; the Aphrodite to his Eros, the Maggie to his Arthur, she'd given birth to him. She'd given birth to him on medication and possibly drugs. She'd ignored him, tormented him with indifference, and worst of all he still loved her.

He was surprised by how careful he was with her. _Gently_, he'd tied her arms and legs together, secured them to the head and foot boards, and had _quietly_ retrieved the things he needed as to not wake her.

Her sewing box, along with other necessary items like alcohol and towels; were all for her. She was precious to him after all; she was his mother and could do no wrong.

Squee stared at her for a long moment, just seeing her. Her face certainly held a certain look to it, as if she'd been very beautiful once. That was his fault wasn't it? He was the reason she'd become so grotesque; bloated and shabby.

"I only wanted you to see me, to care." He whispered as he sat beside her, "I just wanted for you to say it, just once, but you couldn't because you didn't . . ."

He paused briefly, _no_, he was screwing things up again. He wanted this for her.

". . . you don't, do you?" Inside of him something seemed to just fall apart. Squee's mother slept on, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. If one looked over they would see the radio singing jovially in a sea of prescription bottles and painkillers. His mother's addiction was slowly eating away at their family but she could do no wrong, because mother is good and kind. She is filled with unconditional love and warmth for her children, right?

Mother is god in the eyes of a child.

But Squee is no child and right now his mother looks anything but godly.

xXx

Warning, next chapter may have a different rating.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

She was pumped so full of tranquilizers she couldn't see straight if she'd wanted to. Squee knew that wouldn't do. He couldn't let her stay swollen like a balloon.

"I'd hate it if you couldn't feel anything." He murmured to the small bowl of cheap chicken noodle soup he was stirring in the kitchen.

There was a familiar stillness in the house, one that made Squee feel very comfortable. He knew this unmoving tension; this buttery quiet thick with his parents' strain and self loathing. He'd grown up in this silence.

Behind the blistering, flaking, and otherwise peeling cupboard door was something exceptional for his mother. Something to make her meal special; disinfectant that cleans the toughest stains. Squee wouldn't call his mother a stain but she certainly did smell funny.

At least when this was all over her stench would be smothered by the lemony freshness of Pinesol.

X

Mr. Casil finished his bagel before setting to work. He had many things to do before going out to spend as much time away as possible from his home.

Home, what a funny way to describe the shit hole he lived in.

X

She didn't protest as he spoon fed her the laced soup. In fact, Squee would say she was eager to eat something so familiar to her. How many times had he gotten sick over her soups?

He felt like he was finally doing something for her, something selfless and considerate. He loved his mother; he loved both his parents in truth. He didn't want to believe they didn't love him back but one must face the horrors of reality as time passes and we grow old. Maturity should be the epiphany of understanding in one's life.

Yet even as he fed his despondent bag of a parent Squee could feel something slipping away. It was like the wispy touch of smoke to the tips of his fingers; like silk trailing over a bare shoulder or a misty haze surrounding his street one cold autumn morning. He could only just feel it now that it was leaving him.

He paused briefly, the spoon unwaveringly close to his mother's lips, and thought on this. What could he be losing?

His parents? The woman he'd called mommy for the longest time; the father he'd wanted to want him back. Himself, maybe?

Could her timing be any more perfect? Right in that moment Mrs. Casil reaped the effects of her food and began to vomit all over herself. The lumpy yellow liquid bubbled from the depths of her stomach and spewed out of her mouth spraying her chest, son, and bed. Squee didn't seem all that fazed, he gave the tiniest grimace as his eyes shut and he waited for her to finish.

The rest of her food was placed on the floor next to her bed. She just wouldn't stop throwing up. After a few seconds the spittle became more transparent, the sheer amount of solid objects immersed in it sparse, the density lessened. She was emptying herself of stomach acid as well.

Mrs. Casil couldn't move any appendages, her chest was heaving rapidly. She couldn't breathe for the vomit creeping into her lungs. Her body was purging itself of all of her medication.

She wanted to scream but the sad look on her only son's face silenced her. She wanted to wiggle free of her bonds but the ice running through her veins stilled her. She wanted to kill her child but the knife in his hands frightened her.

This wasn't the boy she'd birthed seventeen years ago, no, this one came a year and a half later. This wasn't the son she'd worked so hard for; this was the one she'd worked hard to destroy. This wasn't her baby, this was Todd.

"You're awake." Was the soft utterance of a voice near her. There was the tiniest edge to those words.

"Nice glimpse of reality isn't it?" he asked motioning to the bodily fluids soaking her nightgown.

"nnghh . . ." Her son gave the tiniest of smiles.

"As eloquent as ever I see." She gave a large cough but that only succeeded in filling her chest with more liquid.

"It fits you," he murmured to the empty space on his dad's side of the bed, "I'm glad it hurts." And he was right because Mrs. Casil could feel her body shudder and jerk for oxygen. Desperately her fingers clawed at the ropes tied around her wrists and her feet pulled at her bonds.

"I was going to see what's inside." He said pulling the knife out of his lap, "but I think I'll let you die this way. It suits you better, you should choke on the shit you put in yourself."

X

Mr. Casil turned up the music on his computer.

X

Slowly Squee stood from the bed, this time his eyes never leaving his mother's face. She started calling out for him, gurgling and sputtering for help but he simply stared at her. Her stomach gave a startling lurch and she was choking again.

It was grotesque and alarming to see his mom this way. For the first time in as long as he could remember Squee felt as if he was truly seeing her in all her glory. She jerked violently against the ropes, her body heaving, her throat swelling with accumulated fluids rushing into her lungs. It was disgusting and beautiful because it was everything he'd wanted for the longest time.

Something inside of him, something very familiar was telling him to look away. A voice he could barely understand was begging him to run from the sight of his mom on her death "bed". It wasn't healthy for him to see. The room turned brown suddenly and the bed emptied. Dust filled the cracks weaving in and out of the walls and settled over all of the furniture, brushing his skin and surrounding his skeletal frame. The room felt disrupted.

He snapped back to see old stains turn bright red as if revived. She was coughing up blood now.

"I just wanted you to be there, is that so much to ask?" he screamed to the dying woman on the bed, then, just as suddenly his voice softened. "I just wanted a mom, a family." The last bit came out in a breathy whisper as if it had taken all of his strength to say it.

But she had not heard the last of his confession because she'd gone still. This was a quiet Squee did not know. The room suddenly felt very small to him. It was just Squee and his mother, alone, because his father had not heard a thing. Everything invaded him all at once and the stench of the room was overwhelming. It reeked of blood and vomit.

It smelled like his mother.

X

He didn't bother to clean up after himself; there would be a new mess soon enough anyways. Shame, at leaving his mother in her stink, swamped him and for a moment he was overwhelmed by the pure emotion he felt at the sight of her. Had this all been his responsibility? His mother's 'illness', as his father put it, their lives? Was it his entire fault?

Squee couldn't dwell on the little things now; there was his father to deal with after all. He knew, out of both of his parents, he would be the difficult one.

X

_Mr. and Mrs. Casil weren't always bad people. They'd been a happy couple once; newly weds young and eager. They were ready for a child, for a baby._

_What would they name him or her? They couldn't be sure and decided to wait. It would be easier to choose once they actually got pregnant._

X

_Creak_

_Snap_

Mr. Casil narrowed his eyes at the door. His son's footsteps echoed down the hall in a maddening manner. How dare he be so loud. But an unnerving silence filled the empty space afterwards. It was foreboding and sent chills spiraling down his spine.

X

Read and review for the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry! I gave you guys the wrong summary. This one should help with the whole understanding thing!

Chapter Four

Little Voices

_Hail Mary_

All Squee could do was wait.

_Full of Grace_

And remember a time when he believed his own little lies.

_The Lord is with thee_

He could remember a day when thought didn't seem to matter, when life just seemed to fit.

X

The tall towers and powerful arches of the Church were intimidating; they were like manifestations of the believer's faith and love. A few of many things Todd had never been shown.

There was a sense of worthlessness as he crossed the threshold into the mouth of this religious place with his parents. His mother was sluggish but sober enough to stand straight; she was wearing clothes that smelled musky and old with disuse. The pearls that adorned her throat were dull and yellow.

His father looked around, bored out of his mind. He wore a simple white shirt and black pants with no neck tie. The Casil's looked relatively normal, if you ignore the glazed look in Mrs. Casil's face or the way neither parent seemed to keep any sort of track of the small boy tagging along behind them.

Todd could only stare at the doorway that seemed to want to swallow him up with one great heave of a breath. His family was leaving him behind though and he really didn't want to be left alone with these strangers.

Inside the high ceilings were dotted with carved and decorated spikes aimed down at the church goers like the wrath of God; ready to strike you down.

There was not a single familiar face that Todd could see during the funeral. Some first cousin of his father had died in a horrible car crash. In a casket outside of his peripheral vision lay someone he'd never known. So why were they there?

To make everyone see that they existed?

To make everyone think everything was okay?

After the ceremony there was a service in the gardens outside. His mother and father immediately wandered away. Todd stayed behind and allowed himself to search for something to occupy himself with. This place was certainly beautiful but completely foreign and in many ways surreal.

The priest walked inside, gave him a tiny smile, and disappeared behind a door Todd had not seen before. There were voices behind that door.

There was scuffling behind him but it turned out to be some teenager searching the aisles for something. The young man didn't seem to notice little Todd, instead he looked to be distraught in his attempts to even go as far as to feel around the floor for it.

"Stupid glasses."

His eyes were focused on the door again, that priest was right behind that door, talking to someone. Curiosity overwhelmed him and he pushed the door open with the smallest _squeak_.

_I am with Thee_

A soft voice, calm and rational flooded Squee's dreams. Amidst the blood and carnage of his long since suffocating resentment lay a boy who never should have felt such sorrow. Even as his parents began to grow bloated with decay after many hours of being dead Squee refused to move. His mind was in turmoil and he needed to set things straight with himself.

Years of subtle and not so subtle hints were highlighted in his mind. Words conveying grief towards a son that was not him, looks of bitterness and disgust, all of this began to surface. What did it mean?

"_Johnny?"_

"No, Todd."

"_Are you sure you're not Johnny?"_

"My name is Todd."

"_Alright, but only if you're sure."_

"I don't think you're supposed to be here." Todd spun around with the tiniest squeak and looked up to see the teenager looking down at him.

X

Squee sat up, his arms heavy and his eyes fuzzed with sleep. The room was empty save for childhood memoirs that held no meaning. There was a flurry of dust snowing from the ceiling. Moonlight caught the particles and filled the room with old light. No one had touched the room in years.

Squee felt malnourished but didn't care, he felt tired and worn but barely noticed, he felt strange and awkward but like himself. His clothes were aged and his body was young. Inside he felt like throwing up.

_Her body heaving for air to fill her vomit-flooded lungs. . . his mother, his mom._

Grey faded and lines thickened over every surface. What was ancient became old and wide brown eyes took in his surroundings.

It was a little sad. His room didn't have a speck of dust anywhere. Suddenly he felt the urge to dirty his room, he wanted to trash everything in it.

He looked out the window to Johnny's house but saw only darkness leaked out of those windows into the bright afternoon. The shadows remained still and gave no sign as to the whereabouts of his estranged neighbor.

His father was somewhere downstairs, probably in his study despite the smell of his mother rotting in their bedroom. Mr. Casil would eventually investigate it and Squee promised to be ready.

"_I hate you for living."_

His mother's mantra, the words she could no longer whisper to him when she was half dazed from eating bottles of prescription pills.

"_Why didn't you die like . . ."_

But just as suddenly as it was there it was gone.

He stood up and rolled his back into an arch. It was time to get to work.

X

Mr. Casil was taking a vacation.

Someplace far away from this hell he lived in where he could start over. Screw this family, screw his wife, and screw that bastard of a son.

X

There was a deafening silence as Mr. Casil left his study. Todd was here, somewhere, and his wife was reeking up their bedroom with her addiction. The bitch had probably thrown up all over their bed.

"Her bed." Mr. Casil grimaced as the smell became overwhelming. He felt no need to wake her; he didn't want to deal with the woman when he was so close to getting out.

Slowly he gripped the handle and twisted. The stench increased ten fold. Mr. Casil couldn't breathe. His brain seemed to be processing everything in tiny fragments.

His wife not moving. Her hands lashed above her. Her legs tied together. Wrists and ankles bruised. A struggle. Vomit blanketing her chest and face. Her soft brown hair dripping with fluids. Her eyes wide open staring with a glassy film at the ceiling almost as if to say;

_Todd_.

X

Mr. Casil backed out slowly and closed the door. The tension was on the brink of imploding on the residents of the tall white house of 775

He had to get out.

X

Squee couldn't remember seeing his father move so quickly. One second he was staring at his bedroom door as if it had just given him the secret of life and the next he was bolting for the front door as if his dead wife's body were chasing him.

The metal in Squee's hands was frigid but solid. His father raced around the corner and Squee swung the metal bat and made contact with the flabby unused flesh of his father's skinny diaphragm.

The _Crack_ he heard was probably the fracturing of several ribs. He hoped it wasn't too serious.

Looking down he could finally see his father's face properly. His wire rimmed glasses had been thrown off during the impact, exposing the drooping bags of his eyes and patchy discoloration of his skin. Mr. Casil hadn't bothered with shaving that morning so he looked much more tired with his five a.m. stubble.

Overall his father looked like shit.

Dark brown eyes flickered open and stared up at him. Todd was blurred but identifiable with the blaringly red hoodie he'd adorned that morning.

Mr. Casil couldn't quite breathe right but his head was clearing and limbs were reacting. Todd was still standing over him with that bat just watching him breathe.

Slowly he closed his eyes and felt the vibrations of his son moving closer.

Squee watched his father carefully, waiting for him to pass out before reaching out to grip his arms. But before he could heave him up to move his father reacted.

Squee was tackled to the ground and the hand holding the bat bashed against the floor. His father was over him, pinning him down, screaming in his face, beating his wrist, breaking his grip on the weapon.

The bat was thrown across the room and Mr. Casil was yelling words Squee couldn't grasp. It was a deafening noise blurring with the ever buzzing in the back of his head. He just watched as his father punched and kicked even when Squee stopped moving.

There was no feeling in his body, only a passive interest. This was more of a reaction than this father had ever given him.

"You fucking prick . . . you kill . . . lock your skinny ass . . . mother's dead . . . beat the shit . . . lesson . . . call cops . . . trouble . . . brother . . . your fault . . . hate your sorry ass . . . should have died as well . . ."

The words started making sense again. His father's face came into focus and the tazer was like a weight in his pocket. His hand dove and his long skinny legs came to wrap around the waist straddling him. It didn't take much to flip them over. His father wasn't strong and his body wasn't balanced. Squee had the flip switched and its spikes in his father's gut before he'd even stopped yelling about how their lives were fucked up because Squee had lived.

X

Thanks to all those who reviewed. Review for the next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Just a warning. Don't complain if this chapter gets a little confusing. I don't do author's notes often so please read. Just take in everything in this chapter. It jumps back and forth many times so just imagine it as it is read. This chapter was the hardest to write and signifies a turning point in the story and character so please just read it. Sorry it's so long, I couldn't find a place to cut it without confusing people any more than they would be normally.

Chapter Five

In Which Loose Ends Are Made.

His father was tied to one of the kitchen chairs, unconscious, drooling on his wrinkled, dirty wife-beater. Squee was reclining on the living room couch, dozing lightly. The air was calm and the house quiet. It was nice, this silence.

Mr. Casil snorted, his glasses hanging off one ear, his left arm twitching slightly. Squee's head turned lazily; eyes half open, arms lolling to rest on the ground. He felt like floating.

Squee admired the set expression of his father's face in unconsciousness. He looked so peaceful and at ease. He'd never seen that face on him before. How much more of his parents had never been shared with him? How much was hidden away?

Squee's eyes drifted shut. His head was comfortably resting on an old and musky smelling throw pillow found at a garage sale. He remembered that the woman who had practically given them the cushion had many cats wandering her front lawn. Squee'd fallen for a small orange and white tabby kitten from a fresh litter.

"You like cats, my boy?" Squee'd nodded, clutching the small furry creature in the close circle of his arms.

"Would you like that little runt? I was planning on drowning the poor thing anyways. You can have him for a quarter." Squee's face had slipped into an expression of despair at the thought of killing the helpless animal.

"Do you have a quarter, boy?" he could remember the soft leathery feel of her hand on his cheek, the clanking of her plastic bangles, and the stale and dank smell of her breath on his face, but worst of all he remembered he didn't have a penny to his name.

His mother and father had headed back to the car. They didn't look back when he had called for them. In fact it seemed they thought to leave him behind entirely.

Squee had almost decided to take the kitten and run to the car. The woman was old and couldn't catch him. He watched as his dad started the car and tensed but as if sensing his intentions the old hag snatched the kitten from his arms and dumped it back into the litter, her eyes hard and her face set in an infuriating smirk.

"Your parents are leaving, runt."

Squee's eyes were open again and staring at the monster he'd caught. This grotesque thing was his father

A long, slow, and dangerous smile spread across his face. He was waking up.

X

There was a ringing in Mr. Casil's ears. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he didn't even want to feel. His stomach was on fire, his eyes were fuzzy, and in front of him was a large red splotch.

"You are my sunshine,"

Damn that stupid boy.

"My only sunshine."

That fucking murderer.

"You make me happy,"

"Let me go you sick excuse for a pile of shit!"

"When skies are gray." The Splotch moved into a sitting position. Mr. Casil did not like this at all.

"Todd Casil you untie me right now or so help me I'll . . ."

He didn't finish and unfortunately for him Todd didn't finish the statement either. He was dead silent, as if waiting for him to continue.

The room wouldn't slide into focus no matter how many times he tilted his head to slip his glasses over his ear.

"You coward, you fucking coward. Attention seeking cunt. You wait, Todd, you wait till I get out of this I swear to God and the Devil alike I'm gonna beat the living shit out of you. You'll be wishing you were dead by the time I'm finished I swear." Squee's father ranted on, unaware of the soft smile obscuring his son's face.

There was amusement in Todd's eyes, glee in his body and the knife in his hands felt like a fire that spread throughout his being with abandon. This felt good.

Mr. Casil ranted on, jerking his arms, trying to get free. Truth be told, the man was terrified. Images of his wife's dead body flitted in and out of his eyes as he desperately tried to untie himself. Would that mistake of a son kill him as well?

Mr. Casil was not his wife; he'd never laid a finger on Todd. It was Mrs. Casil; she was the one who'd gotten violent with the child.

They'd both been angry, it was hard to lose a child and gain a reminder of what you'd lost. No matter how you looked at it that's all Todd was, a reminder of all their hard work and the end they'd been given.

Todd wasn't supposed to remember those oh-so-crucial years of his life. The backlash of him knowing what had happened could and probably would be so much worse.

Mr. Casil had not moved for several moments. Though his body was still tensed his efforts had stilled.

Squee watched his father, confused as to what had changed. The air was tingling with some sort of electricity.

"It's funny, I don't remember mom singing me any lullabies when I was younger." Mr. Casil didn't move, didn't breathe . . . what could he say?

"Then again I don't remember much of anything before the move." Squee stared hard at the small dot between his father's eyebrows. It was the tiniest of freckles, so small you wouldn't even see it in a passing glance.

"So what happened, _Dad_? What drugs did you take from Mom to make me forget?" Mr. Casil was struggling again. He tugged desperately at the thick cloth coiled around his wrists, his ankles . . .

Was this how his wife felt if she had, in fact, felt anything at all? Trapped, cornered, caged? Tormented even? Had she spoken to Todd as well?

So many questions raced through Mr. Casil's head, so many thoughts blurring into one another, crashing and rolling around. Faces, names, dates, prescriptions, and meetings; all of it becoming one horrible sequence of events that would eventually lead up to this; the grand unveiling. Welcome to the show.

He was jerking at the chair, violently scratching at the cloth ropes, screaming, grunting, and yelling in frustration. He was so caught up in freeing himself that he didn't feel the chair tip to drag him to the ground, he didn't see the blob that was his son jolt to a stand, he didn't notice anything until he fell to his side with his arm caught under his weight and the chair.

"Arrrrrrrrggggghhhhhhhh! Fuck!" he yelled as the impact threw reality back into his face. His glasses fell off to the side somewhere and small spasms erupted from his right side.

X

Squee and his parents wandering the labyrinth of shops and jewelry stores, so many people . . .

X

"You should be more careful," Squee muttered as he yanked his father's seat back into an upright position, "you could seriously hurt yourself that way."

"Wouldn't be a problem," Mr. Casil took a long fuzzy look at Todd, "if you'd let me out of this FUCKING CHAIR!" Squee ended an internal argument and carefully picked up his father's glasses. He twiddled with the ends for a short while before kneeling in front of him to delicately slide them onto Mr. Casil's face.

The film that his impaired eyes had hidden behind cleared and the soft curves of a face still shrouded in childhood focused.

"No." Was the deemed reply. Mr. Casil gave Todd a narrowed look before violently lunging forward. Squee stepped back, this time, very clearly amused. His father gave a dangerous lurch frontward before steadying himself with a jerk back.

"What I've never understood is why you wouldn't just throw something like that in my face. If mom was shitty and it was my fault why didn't you say anything?" He paused only barely pressing the edge of the blade into the sofa, "You've never hesitated to do so before." He was slouching on his thighs now, leaning on his elbows with one knee slightly higher than the other.

"What happened before the move?" Todd was staring at Mr. Casil intensely, his brown eyes unblinking and disturbingly innocent. The whole picture would be innocent if it weren't for the butcher knife in his hands.

"What happened before the move?" Squee didn't understand why he felt the inclination to repeat himself but he did so. His father looked distant and it was more than pissing him off.

X

Suddenly Squee's parents were gone and the people were closing in. He held Shmee close to his chest out of fear, needing the comfort of something so familiar in such a strange place.

X

"I don't think you're supposed to be here."

Then a boy, now a man. Tall, lanky, awkward, he was a loner in a sense but not in a bad way. Never a bad way. Long thin fingers reached up to replace misplaced glasses.

"We are taught to believe that everyone has a purpose . . ."

X

"Don't make me repeat myself." Squee's father stared back defiantly.

In a flash of red the boy had tackled him and they both toppled to the floor with a vicious thud. Mr. Casil cried out as their combined weight slammed down on his forearms and a six inch blade was pressed flush up against his jaw, the blade crinkling as it parted the short hairs of his chin.

"Do you think I won't do it?" The knife cut into his skin and blood trickled down his throat and down the curve of his neck. Squee sat up, much the way he had when he'd initially tazered him, the knife still cutting into his father's neck. There was a beautiful sense of power where he sat, a power he'd never experienced before.

"You wanna get cocky with me?" He questioned lightly, "Do you want to be in control again?" He didn't expect an answer nor would the asshole give one but he found himself watching this worm expectantly anyways.

"You were so vocal earlier. Did I offend you?"

"We never wanted you."

"That much is exceedingly obvious." Squee prodded his father's chest with the tip of the blade, urging him to continue.

"Fuck, don't do that! Oww, okay, okay." Pale fingers were pushing wire rim glasses back onto his face. That damn pansy, couldn't tell he was that strong with those scrawny arms of his.

"You weren't our first pregnancy." That was almost expected on Squee's part. It was obvious what had happened.

There were splotches of blood on his father's shirt, blooming, blossoming, and budding. The tip of the blade had sliced his skin. His father's voice was fuzzy.

He wasn't sitting on him anymore. Sometime between then and now he'd propped him back up and Squee was now reclining back on the sofa. His father's voice was angry and reflective. His body was tense as he revealed everything to his son. The abuse, the neglect and all because of . . .

X

"_She's hemorrhaging!" Mrs. Casil was being wheeled into the emergency room. Mr. Casil raced along beside her. Doctors were yelling, nurses were prepping needles, and their baby was dieing._

"_Honey?" Mr. Casil could see the doors looming, once they went through he would have to stay behind._

"_Baby, I'm right here. I'm here with you." His wife was so beautiful, so young. They were both young. How could this happen? Why the first one?_

"_Is Johnny going to be okay?" but she was through the doors and several nurses were holding him back. When Mr. Casil would next see his wife she would be without the child they'd created._

X

"_Mrs. Casil, I have the results of your blood work and urine samples." The doctor eyed the couple with disdain. They were clearly not ready for something so soon after losing their son._

_Mrs. Casil was looking at him listlessly. Her husband was in a chair off to the side looking more than a little tired. Neither wanted to be here but something had to be wrong with her._

"_You're pregnant."_

X

"_If you don't want it then get an abortion." Mr. Casil looked at his wife with exasperation. She'd been crying for hours now._

"_I don't want to loose him either!" She screamed before running to their bedroom and locking herself in. Hours of dousing pills and liquor would calm her nerves. _

X

"_Things are gonna get better, Todd." Mrs. Casil gently touched the bruise on her son's face. His cheek was so soft. "Mommy didn't mean to hit you, baby. Mommy's very sorry." Large brown eyes blinked up at her. _

_Mr. Casil watched silently from the kitchen. Someone was bound to notice something sooner or later._

X

"_Get up." Mr. Casil threw an empty prescription bottle at his lump on the bed. She gave a low groan before looking up at him._

"_It's Todd's birthday. We're going to the mall." Mrs. Casil shook the negative and rolled back over._

"_Listen, I don't want to do it anymore than you do but maybe he wouldn't complain to his teachers so much if we could treat him nice for a little while." Mr. Casil had to throw at least five more bottles before she was out of bed._

"_It won't be for long."_

_Todd was waiting downstairs with the small teddy bear his mother's doctor had given him. He held the ratty thing close, whispering things to it occasionally. Mr. Casil grimaced._

_He was getting sick of this, all of it. He had no life, his wife wouldn't work, and Todd always needed something. He was getting frustrated._

X

_Mr. Casil glanced back at his wife, she was examining a pair of faux silver earrings with subtle interest. There were so many people today. It took about a minute for him to realize that something was missing._

_Todd was gone._

X

Squee's world was spinning, he wasn't moving and yet the ceiling was turning, the kitchen doubling, his whole life crashing. No. It couldn't be real.

"We found you in the alley behind the mall, covered in your own blood. The doctor said nightmares were normal and the best thing to do would be to let you sleep in our room for a while. You used to wake up your mother with your screaming. She'd get up in a rage, hit you, kick you; she'd do anything to keep you quiet. Her temper tantrums just kept getting worse and worse. So I stole a bottle of her tranquilizers and gave you one every night before you went to bed. You never cried again."

X

". . . that everything happens for a reason . . ." A different boy-now-a-man, always alone, dark hair, pale skin, long legs swinging him back and forward on the seat of the swing . . .

X

"You're wrong, that happened after we moved here, not before. And it wasn't my blood I was covered in." Mr. Casil didn't blink as his son stared him down.

"You think I'm lying, boy?" Mr. Casil sneered at Todd, "You don't even know where the mall in this town is."

"Yes I do." But he stopped dead after he said this. His father's eyes glared in an almost violent manner at his son.

Something passed between them, something neither would speak out loud. It was terse and abrupt but silently firm. Todd had made many realizations these past few hours but this of the smallest and seemingly most insignificant actually held the most meaning.

He honestly couldn't remember where the mall was or if this town even had one.

X

"I'm pretty sure I was crazy before . . . but the wall didn't help any."

X

"But, next door . . ." Mr. Casil gave him a funny look.

"No one's lived in that house for years."

X

I really need reviews for this chapter. It was by far the hardest to write and I need to know just how confused some of you are. If I don't get reviews for this chapter I won't be able to continue without a total rewrite, which could take from weeks to months. I'll notify you guys if I do decide to rewrite. Please let me know:

Continue?

Rewrite?

Let it be known there is _supposed_ to be a level of uncertainty.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

In which those ends are trimmed

No one.

That's right, even when he'd been younger his father hadn't believed him. A sad and condoning smile turned up Squee's face. His father's eyes turned to slits.

_A letter to my future self . . ._

Johnny never got caught.

'_Am I still happy?' I began . . ._

"Are you so sure?" Not even a flinch. If anything the boy seemed pitying. "Have you been inside? Have you been to the basements? Have you seen the bodies or noticed how many people seem to go missing on this block? Have you witnessed the one who comes for them? Have you solved the murders or caught the man responsible? Have you even the capacity to comprehend anything outside of your own sick and sad little life?" the boy was leering over him, the knife tracing patterns in his arm.

"Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he's not there." Squee's voice was tart and filled with venom.

"Just because you can doesn't mean he is." Was his father's short reply.

Once again his father's words caught him off guard. But no, now was not the time for doubt.

"Are you going to kill me?" and Squee smiled.

"Do you really need an answer to that?"

No, he didn't. Todd didn't look apologetic or sad. He actually looked quite relieved that he'd asked.

_Is Daddy still a good man?_

His movements were a bit jerky but still held the fluidity of a natural born predator, if not an inexperienced one. They'd kept him locked away, stalling the advent of a killer, for as long as possible without realizing it. But the threads had snapped and upon them a storm had been released.

_I'm sure that I'm still laughing_

_Aren't I?_

_Aren't I?_

Maybe it had been intuition to treat him the way they had. Maybe whatever shred of 'human survival instincts' they had left had warned them to break the boy before he bit back.

_Oh, oh what a pair, me and you_

_Put here to feel joy not be blue_

Maybe _maybe_ was too much of a convenient excuse.

"I suppose I have been putting this off."

"There's no one next door." And Squee thought the statement was a bit out of place.

"I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree on that one."

"I know no one lives there."

"Are you trying to piss me off?" only Todd didn't sound upset or angry, he sounded surprised.

"Is that why you're doing this, Todd? Because the 'Scary-neighbor-man' is telling you to?" and this very nearly did piss him off.

"Johnny didn't tell me to do anything."

"Johnny?" and Mr. Casil was laughing. It was too surreal.

"Are you finished?"

"You named him Johnny?" It was Squee's turn to be annoyed.

"I didn't name him. That's what he _told_ me his name _was_." Mr. Casil was beside himself with the absurdity of the moment. His dead son was actually haunting his living one.

"I never told you what you're brother's name was, did I?" and Todd's head tilted slightly to one side. But the truth didn't seem to matter much to the boy because the knife in his hand seemed to take on a life of its own. It raised itself above his head, poised to strike.

Don't you think it's a bit late for that?

Todd couldn't tell if he actually voiced the question, but he was sure his father got the hint. Mr. Casil may not have told him but the implications were there. He was not imagining things, Johnny was real.

_Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz do what you feel is best zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz _

And the buzzing was back, attacking his mind, scraping holes into his brain, leeching out all lunacy and leaving him clear and free from all things blurring and wrong.

X

"We are taught to believe we meet others for a reason, that if it is destiny we will meet them again." A church going teenager with a dying mother meets a boy, while wandering the aisles of a church, who was only curious.

"That if we are meant to impact someone we will show them right from wrong . . ." A gangly boy; tall and abnormally skinny, being shoved into lockers and thrown head first into toilets.

". . . that if we are meant to teach someone something we will teach them well . . ." A girl, raised by a mother who couldn't seem to find the right man, always picking the wack-jobs, always getting beaten.

" . . . because that is the path chosen for us. And though considered unfair in their methods we must remember that the ones who choose our courses are not human and thus might not comprehend human pain."

"_. . . I wish . . . I wish someone would just switch me off and . . . fix me." A brief pause._

"_Bunny?"_

"_Yes, Nny?"_

"_I'm not happy."_

X

And there it was, that terror again. It spurred Squee on. The knife in his grip was steady as he brought the thing down without thinking. Taut muscles gave way and Mr. Casil fell forward.

X

_Sad times and Bad times_

_See them through_

Devi clutched at the straps of her backpack as she stared at the boy sitting on the swings across the playground. A distinct tingly feeling spread throughout her gut, her legs tensed and her knuckles turned white.

He didn't look much older than her nor did he look much stronger but there was something about the way he . . . well, to be honest she didn't know what it was he was doing but he was obviously someone she should stay away from.

Her intuition was right more often than not.

She set off, once more towards home; the weighty feel of her new art supplies reminding her that she had the whole day to find her new calling.

Squee watched the girl walk away, dark hair swishing from side to side . . .

X

"Ooff!" Mr. Casil hit the floor with a vicious thud; sending his glasses, once again, flying across the floor. The ropes were loose around his left wrist and somewhere inside of him he knew nothing but the desire to be gone.

Above him a fuzzy blob moved away from where he'd fallen. A soft voice drilled into his ears.

"You should feel lucky, Mother didn't get the opportunity I'm giving you." And then the blob was gone, disappearing into the depths of the house. The day was fading fast, yellow-orange rays of sunlight were weaving through the windows.

Moving as quickly as his shocked mind could comprehend, Mr. Casil scrambled for his glasses.

X

He watched his father fall to land face down on the carpet, his nose pressed into scratchy fibers. Fingers dug into them and comprehension of his lack of physical harm pushed the man to try to get up.

"You should feel lucky . . ." His father paused, blearily peering up at him, "Mother didn't get the opportunity I'm giving you." And with that final note he backed up a few steps and turned into the hallway.

On his way out Squee languidly picked up what his father searched for so fruitlessly from beside his foot.

_Soon we will know_

_If it's for real_

_What we both feel . . ._

X

There were no lights exceeding the sucking rays of the setting sun and the silence was overwhelming. He was somewhere in the house, maybe upstairs or maybe close by.

It was hard to just lay there knowing his glasses were gone and that he probably wouldn't live to find them again. A tightness seized his lungs and his fingers unrewardingly skimmed the carpet for any trace of his missing lenses.

'You should feel lucky my ass.' Mr. Casil broke the quiet with a vicious thud of his fist against the floor. Todd had left him hindered. Slowly he raised himself up to his knees and squinted around the room. From what he could tell the boy had vacated the area and left him to his own devices.

Blinking several times he scooted back onto his backside and grabbed for a looming dark shape beside him. Fear shot through him like a bullet and he was very suddenly wrenching himself away from it and towards the coffee table. From his new vantage he could see that it was only been the chair he'd been tied to.

Abruptly Mr. Casil became acutely aware of every sound his house made. Small ticks and cackles from the kitchen pipes, tiny squeaks from cabinet doors and even more ominous sounds from further into his house amplified a thousand fold in his ears. A prickling settled at the base of his neck that made him very lightheaded.

Cautiously he rose to a hunched stand, his eyes darting aimlessly, his mind trying to gather where the light switch would be.

Left, he decided. His hands glided over everything as he passed; keeping with a set path he'd made for himself towards the far wall. Finally his back hit a cold surface and he released a sigh of relief.

But was it such a good idea? The sun was fading into the horizon, lighting the sky and room in a reddish hue. To Mr. Casil the color reminded him of the soft fabric of his son's hooded sweat jacket.

If he turned on the light everything, all of his surroundings, would be thrown into a much sharper focus. The next time he saw Todd would most definitely be the last. Maybe if he kept them off he'd have a better chance at getting out alive.

X

_Though I can't be sure if things worked out for us_

Squee watched from a distance as his father sank to the floor and disappeared behind the couches . . .

_No matter how hard it gets_

Mr. Casil listened very carefully to the soft creak of the floorboards from the banister above him . . .

_You have to realize_

Squee shifted slightly and was startled by the squeak that the floor beneath him made . . .

_We weren't put on this earth to suffer and cry_

Mr. Casil took advantage of the especially large groan of the floorboards to move away . . .

_We were made for being happy_

Squee looked down again to see no trace of his father in the desolate gray of the downstairs living room.

_So be happy, for me . . ._

Mr. Casil guardedly wrapped his fingers around the solid metal handle of his son's discarded baseball bat.

_For you . . ._

A feeling, not unlike fear itself, seized Squee's shoulders. They say once you loose sight of something dangerous that something already has you caught.

_Please_

X

Review for the next chapter.

Lyrics from the song titled "A Letter from Lost Days" from the Silent Hill games.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Where Everything Unravels

Squee gripped the railing, no longer submerged in shadows and leaned over the rail.

Careful steps led him down the stairs. He didn't bother muffling the creaks his shoes left with each press down. The chair his father had been in not ten minutes ago had toppled over and the man was nowhere to be found.

An empty sort of feeling suffocated him as he looked around. Squee suddenly felt stiffled, like the humidity of the room was overwhelming him. His skin was sticky and his lungs were contracting into themselves. Every little noise was muted.

What was smooth became itchy and rough. The once gentle and comforting fabric of his red hoodie was worn and torn.

A noise behind him made him jerk around. Very suddenly the dust was back and his skin was chilled in the December breezed drifting in from between the fragments of broken glass. Looking down he saw his bare forearms and hands surely gripping a knife that promised carnage. The buzzing twittled in the background only this time he wasn't surprised, comforted, or even disturbed by it, instead it seemed only a mild annoyance.

Two lone clips of hair fell in front of his eyes . . .

Everything suddenly faded back and Squee felt like an insect molting for the first time as the red fabric fell from his shoulders.

X

Jimmy took a fleeting look over at the two tall basketball players making glances at him. They were planning something, he could tell in the way they were walking towards him sneering and nodding to their friends as they passed.

"_That if we are meant to impact someone we will teach them right from wrong . . ."_

Because he's a skinny fag that's why. Because he just seems to be made to fit in those lockers. Because he's a crater face.

Whatever reasons they gave, whether those receiving them approved or not, they still did it. They did it because they could.

Jimmy wasn't strong enough to stop them, but he swore to God and Satan alike that he would be one day. Even as they shoved him violently into the wall he knew he would get each and everyone of them back.

X

Giving in to the buzz Squee felt everything focus into a razorblade intensity. Every shadow, every line, it all became as bare as black and white.

_Johnny?_

And a voice simpered into his head.

'No, Todd.'

The buzzing echoed out, bouncing off every wall and the fear he'd felt when he'd lost sight of his father was replaced with a different sort of feeling. It crawled over his skin, making him hypersensitive to the slightest changes in the room.

Fear wasn't something that could govern over him any longer.

_Feels good doesn't it?_

_Of course it does, he's becoming the very thing he hates. My boy, take a good look at yourself. You're a monster._

He shook his head, what _was_ that?

Squee was very suddenly aware of the handle he held. The blade on it was almost as long as his forearm.

_My, my, now how did that get there?_

A shift, ever so slight, caught his attention. His father was waiting for him, just inside the kitchen. Amusement tingled across the expanse of his stomach.

_Not very discrete is he._

_No, foolish more like._

_You know Johnny, he's been asking for this. He's treated you like shit._

"My name's Todd." And some of the awareness seemed to fade along with the voices. He became very cold, his arms shivering and his eyes growing wide.

The dark became an increasingly foreboding place very quickly.

The glaringly red hoodie off to the side jumped out at him, its shade so bright in the dreary colors of the living room. Slowly Squee reached down and picked up the sweater. It was still warm from wearing it all day.

The fabric was so comforting against his fingers.

_Be careful, that man has evil intentions towards you. He is sure that you won't let him leave here alive._

Squee looked over towards the doorway. All he could see were shadows.

_This is pointless. Let's go next door; I'm sure there is an __**arsenal**__ of fun things to discover there._

_Don't be so hasty Eff. There are still things to accomplish here._

Eff?

'Where's Shmee?'

_Obviously he is not __**here**_

_Your trauma sponge no longer controls you, my boy._

'Shmee . . .' Panic wrapped around his gut like a vise.

_I fear we may have come too soon._

_For once I agree, let us retreat for later date._

The silence that followed threatened to gouge his ears out.

X

_Oh for silence lost and found, my, my how sweet _

_This lie you choose to weave_

_But your words are empty _

_And so now I'll take my leave_

X

Mr. Casil had been so sure of himself, but then _just _for a moment; the bat in his hands had seemed pointless. Todd had looked back at him from the living room and the cool, quiet, almost malevolently docile boy that was his son had disappeared and something far scarier had taken his place.

He'd turned very slowly towards Mr. Casil and then, in a rush, a bright flash of red had slithered to the floor. Long thin limbs swam into position and the white gleam of a very big knife grabbed for his eyes. One look up told him that he'd been spotted. He seemed to pause briefly before poising to run at him. Mr. Casil had tensed his grip so tight his hands were trembling.

He was stuck, here, in this handmade fortress with a madman coming into his second skin.

But something had changed again and Todd seemed much smaller than before. Narrowed eyes grew fuzzy and dim, legs became slack and his son was back.

Todd he could handle, not that other person, not the one with a determined spark in his piercing gaze. When Todd looked over again Mr. Casil knew he'd been lost.

But he was still scared. Todd could change back again and he knew that if he did there would be no hesitation. Mr. Casil had to act now.

Carefully he stepped away from the doorway, sinking even further into the shadows, and started making his way towards the door that led into the hall.

X

Black, all he could see was black. There had been a distinct outline before but it wasn't there anymore. Excitement seized him and the chase was on.

His chase and no one else's.

_I am Todd, and no one else._

The knife was a foreign weight and he wondered if he would eventually grow used to the hot feeling of twisted leather in his palm.

There was a noise behind him. Someone was running at him, someone who reeked of sweat and urine. Todd's nose crinkled as he pivoted to face his attacker. Mr. Casil swung, buried intuition told Squee to duck and swish.

A low whistle sounded above him, leaving his heart thumbing faster and faster in its wake. But Mr. Casil was still running; a knee connected with his chest, knocking the breath out of him and sending him to his back on the hard carpet. Mr. Casil lay sprawled on the floor a few feet above him. His anchor, his jacket, flew from his fingers and slid along the floor.

There was panting and gasping before desperation clawed at the older man and he forced himself up. Squee had rolled over and was clutching his throat wheezing. The knife was still there.

He scrambled over and made a leap for the blade but Squee swung his arm in a high arch that made him reel away. Todd gave him a thin look before swinging ferociously again and again, forcing Mr. Casil against a wall.

Angry couldn't properly describe how Todd felt at that moment. Murderous probably wouldn't do either. Surprisingly, there was no word he could think of at the moment that could correctly explain the bubble of pure malevolence boiling in his gut.

He considered plunging the knife into his father's gut and just ending it but reconsidered. Torture at this point would be the only acceptable punishment.

A precise swing came after a considerate pause. It sliced the skin from directly below his right eye, ran a path over his nose, and up into his hairline, sending splatters of blood to land all over a dusty lamp and table. Mr. Casil gave a shocked scream; his hands flew up to his face. Fluids rushed into his eyes, gushing down his face in weeping trails.

Squee gave a smile at the satisfaction he got from seeing his father suffer. He shouldn't feel so happy, or at least _this_ happy about cutting his face open but _wow_, what a rush.

Mr. Casil's back slammed into the wall, his throat raw from his continuous scream. Opening his eyes only seemed to intensify the feeling in his face. All he could see was red.

With a small grin on his face Todd reached out and grabbed his father by the hair. A fist came out of nowhere and struck his face. Squee stumbled for a bit before turning slowly to look at him. He picked up his knife again before snatching his father's wrist and yanking him to sit on his knees.

"Every time you try to touch me, I'll do something bad to you. For hitting me," Squee forced the sharp edge of the blade between the man's fingers and sliced the skin linking them. He made sure it was a long, slow, and deep cut, "you get this." A shriek answered him and Mr. Casil tugged back on his arm. "Don't make this any worse than it has to be."

This time Squee pulled him by the shirt and lead the still simpering man towards the basement.

X

Review for Mr. Casil's special chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

In Which the Threads are Lost and we Begin Anew

"_Every time you try to touch me . . ."_

They were going down the steps, into the basement of their home . . . _their_ home . . . when Mr. Casil realized something. This was their _home_.

He'd never treated Todd as his son. He'd withheld one of the most needed things for any living person. He'd kept his house from being a home for his son. Todd had grown with no security, no safety. Nothing.

"_I'll do something bad to you."_

Mr. Casil had to do something, even though he couldn't see or hear very much, even though Todd was dragging him relentlessly, _even_ though he had no right to even speak to the boy he had to try.

"_. . . I'll do something bad to you . . ."_

He reached out, as they met the final step and gently touched a thin, dark shoulder. Todd gave a violent start and reacted instantly. Their eyes only briefly met as his son's grip grew tight and Mr. Casil was thrown into something hard. There was a sickening _CRACK_ as his head made contact with concrete and a cold and damp fog wrapped around his consciousness.

"_. . . Every time you try . . ."_

They both knew there was no turning back once the sequence has begun.

X

His house was floating on an ocean, like a boat; swimming to and fro. A gentle lullaby rocked him as his ears became less and less blanketed in his own sleep. Mr. Casil was sitting down again; his legs bent and on either side of him, his arms tied behind him. He felt an aching numbness seize his wrists.

Very suddenly the house came to a stop as if swept to shore by a strong gust of wind against its sail. The boat touched land and was quickly beyond the limits of the sea.

The ache in his head made him want to throw up. Just as Mr. Casil felt he would various images of his wife flitted in and out of his mind's eye.

_Yellowing liquids seeping from the corner of her parted lips, eyes wide, wrists and ankles purple and harsh against the ashen hue of her skin . . ._

Only hell could have chosen a more deserving way to die.

Mr. Casil's mind was reeling. How could he think such horrible things about his wife? The woman he'd always loved, the woman he'd pledged his world, his life, to?

No, that woman had died in the hospital room along with his first son. The dead body upstairs was the shell of something once considered by him and others as a kind and thoughtful mother and wife. For Todd she was an empty and soulless thing full of selfish desires and needs. A shadow, a reflection . . .

Carefully he tried to open his eyes but found he could only part one pair of eye lids. The basement was dank and dark; he felt soaked in the humidity.

The soft lullaby continued to caress his ears;

_I received a letter_

_In the mail today . . ._

Mr. Casil's one good eye picked Todd out of every corner of the room, out of every wall, out of every random object lying around. He leaned back against the thick pillar to relieve the pressure from his wrists. White things jumped out at him from the corner of his sight, everything was moving, changing. Gradually the dark began to fade.

No more red lights dancing across the living room carpet, no more used coffee cups to be washed, no more useless screaming from Todd's room. Nothing would be left. By the end of tonight the whole house would be empty.

Todd was somewhere off to his side, singing a strange and foreign song. Mr. Casil turned to look but found with only one eye that was very difficult.

_It was mangled and bloodied_

_And as most would say . . ._

A scuffle told him that his son was standing up.

Wait, _his_ son, Todd was his son. Even after the murder of his wife and his own mangling he still considered the boy his son.

_It was hardly worth mention_

_This Little Red Letter . . ._

A dark shape took slow and scuffling steps towards a window just in front of Mr. Casil. Moonlight reached out and slid long fingers around Todd's legs, traveling upwards until it finally illuminated his entire body. Todd's soft voice was still gently weaving along a web of silver tongued lyrics.

_But to ignore it completely_

_Now this I knew better_

Squee felt like he was in a daze. His father was staring up at him with the saddest look in his eyes. Concern, well, that was one thing he was not expecting.

"Todd." His voice was rough and scratchy from disuse. The boy kept singing even as he slowly pulled from behind his back a pair of gardening shears. They were a dull grey and spotted with rust from lying prone in their front lawn during the rain.

Mr. Casil called out for his son, he called out for the damaged and manhandled child that was his. He wanted to get through to the young man who sat to himself and never spoke against anyone. He wanted the boy who cried quietly in his room when the 'scary man' from next door made strange noises in his house. He wanted Todd back.

Even if he didn't deserve to have him.

"Todd, please . . ." and he was looking directly into soft brown eyes, brown like his own but surrounded by the heart shaped face of his mother. "Todd."

_Someone sent me a letter_

_In the mail today . . ._

The metal was cold against his skin. Todd was slowly pressing the blades to the skin a ways above his heel. Mr. Casil could see him smiling as he mouthed the words to a song he didn't know.

_My Little Red Letter_

_In the mail today . . ._

Mr. Casil began to scream as Todd clenched his hand around the sheers' handles; digging into the bones and tissues of his Achilles' tendon. Blood seeped and dripped from the wound as the boy kept cutting. Shrieks and yells were all one could hear in the desolate house of 775.

"t-tt todd. p-please stop." Mr. Casil begged in a shaky voice. But Squee didn't seem to hear him. He was reaching into the shadows for something, a wash cloth it looked like, to clean the blades.

"tt-ttodd-d, don't –nngh-EAAAAAAAAAAIIIK-KK! FUCK!" And the shears were back again, twisting and slicing through his skin. He was hurting. He was hurting so bad! Mr. Casil tugged at the ropes wrapped around his wrists; his fingers tingling from the pressure and from lack of circulation.

_Please someone send me a letter_

_And send me one soon_

A needle was pressed under his fingernails, pushing and plunging into the squishy tissue. Digging until he felt the whole house was shaking from the force of his screams. When the needle was halfway through Todd wrenched it up, completely separating the nail from his finger. Todd did this little procedure to every one of Mr. Casil's fingernails.

He'd been untied a just after Todd had rendered his legs useless. He was lying on the floor now, with his son next to him doing unspeakable things with various items from the house. Todd smiled down at him, a nail and hammer in hand.

"T-take a look at what you've become, T-Todd." Squee paused, the nail between his fingers balancing on his father's kneecap.

"I don't think I'm Todd anymore." Mr. Casil's good eye was looking at him through tears, through blood. Squee raised the hammer.

"Then who are you?" He paused again.

"It doesn't matter who I am. At this point all that really counts is what _you_ have and haven't done."

_Lest I believe that the world _

_Was lost in the moon_

The hammer fell and with it Squee's patience. His movements became erratic as he beat the nail into bone and cartilage. Blood curtailing screeches echoed through the basement.

_CRRRRRACCK!_ And the nail hit the floor. Mr. Casil's breathing went jagged and came in short spurts.

Squee watched as the black pool around his father grew and grew. It soaked his jeans and saturated his hands. He took the pin needle he'd used on Mr. Casil's hands and started pinpricking holes in the man's chest and stomach. He knew that after his last treatment he'd hardly feel it.

He pulled out a bottle of alcohol and poured it all over the man. With a wicked gleam in his eyes he watched the man spasm with renewed vigor and give a tiny and pained groan.

"_. . . you're a monster . . ." _

The pungent stink of alcohol seemed to force him to look away for a moment. He didn't want to keep doing this anymore. Squee felt sick, at himself, at his family. He stood up and took a step back.

His father was just lying there, quiet except for his panting.

So cold . . .

Squee gave a start. Where had that thought come from?

The cement pillar, so cold, so strong . . . why couldn't he be the same way? Cold and strong.

A cold December wind touched the bare tips of his fingers. This breeze just seemed to sink into the room from the walls and windows. It licked his skin and gave him the barest of shivers. The air was cold, like in the winter. But . . . now wasn't winter. Now was September. Now was the time for slight chills and dying trees. For yellowing leaves and light jackets. Light Red Hoodies.

The world shifted and everything was gray. Very little light slid into the grimy panes of old windows. He knew this place; he knew that just outside of reason there is escape.

_Swallowed by coldness_

_Driven by spite_

Just outside of reason.

So cold . . . felt so cold in this place.

It was cold like new kitchen tiles, like the blade of a knife, like the eyes of an incapacitated mother, like the words of an angry father. So very cold.

Concrete felt like ice as he pressed his forehead to the thick pillar in the center of the spacious basement. Looking down he could just make out the blood marks permanently pressed into the hard surface.

Even after the mouse is caught it still finds a way to use its teeth. To mark the cat, to remind it, that no one is truly invincible. One day it too will die.

An evil anger spread through him like a wild fire. It made everything snap back, back to the man lying in a pool of black, back to the haunted house of his childhood, back to the place he'd always hated and loved.

His fingers were wrapped around a knife he couldn't remember grabbing for the second time today. With a vicious scream he lunged forward and plunged the knife deep into Mr. Casil's throat. It slid deep into the neck that sputtered so many hurtful things, so deep in fact that it scraped the cold hard floor. Red bubbled and oozed out of his mouth; like cherry flavored cough syrup, like yellow vomit.

Squee stepped back, he expected to hit a wall but was surprised to find that the basement had grown. It was almost as if the force of his father's screams had forced the walls back.

His eyes followed that oh so inky blackness to where it traced a strange and out of place square in the floor. What could it be?

A door maybe . . .

It was then Todd knew that he had no choice but to open it and see. Because as much as he remembered Johnny was invisible he understood that to the blinking red and blue lights outside his house, he was not.

Or as the doughboys would tell you;

Just not yet.

_Please just write me a letter_

_Tell me the world is alright_

End Part One

The lyrics in this final chapter were written by me. This poem is titled 'Little Red Letter' and is mine. To read the whole companion poem to this story review me with your email address and I'll send them to you.

This story is a part of a Trilogy surrounding Nny and Squee. I will, however leave this as a completed story if I feel people have lost interest.

For Part Two titled 'Never Forgive Me' I need to know you're interested. I've got a deadline for a different story coming up so if you want to read the sequel let me know while I have time for it.

This has been a joy to write, thanks for the reviews.


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